by Jan Drexler
But he was done with putting things off. That’s the way Daed would have handled this. He would have ignored Bram, pretended he didn’t exist to punish him for taking off to Chicago all those years ago. If he was going to come out from his daed’s shadow, he needed to face Bram.
Make amends.
He turned the corner and headed west, keeping Tilly’s pace to a slow trot, even though she shook her head in protest. Samuel kept the reins tight, holding her in. He wanted time.
The farm was on the left after he crossed another little creek. A Dawdi Haus nestled in the grass near the creek, with a flower garden in the front. The main house stood on a rise near it, and a white barn sat at the back of the lane. A field next to the lane was planted with corn, and the stalks stood nearly a foot high. A team of four matching Belgian horses grazed in the pasture beyond the barn.
Samuel pulled Tilly to a halt in the road. The horses in the pasture meant that Bram was at home, not out in the fields. He fought the urge to keep driving down the road and turned Tilly into the lane. Someone had seen him coming. An old man watched him from the porch of the Dawdi Haus, but Samuel followed the sound of metal hammering on metal that rang from the barn.
He halted Tilly near the barn door and climbed out of the buggy. The ringing continued. He tied the horse to the rail alongside the barn. No break in the rhythmic hammering from inside.
Looking around, Samuel spied the old man, who had walked up to the main house and stood on the front porch. He lifted his hand in a wave and Samuel returned the gesture. There was no alternative now except to face Bram. Wiping his hands on his trousers, he walked into the barn.
Just inside the door, he stopped to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. Bram was at the end of the main bay, working on a plow, his back to the door. A boy stood next to him. The seven-year-old held his hands over his ears to block out the noise, but leaned as close to Bram as he could, fascinated by the work.
Bram stopped hammering and bent down to inspect his work. “You see here, Johnny,” he said as he pointed, “that was the piece that had come loose. But now it’s fastened in good and tight and should work fine.”
Samuel walked toward them and the boy saw him.
“Daed, someone’s here.”
Bram straightened and turned, a welcoming smile on his face until he saw who it was.
“Samuel.” His voice held a note of surprise.
“Hello, Bram.”
Bram pulled off his gloves and laid one hand on the boy’s shoulder without taking his gaze away from Samuel. “Johnny, we’re done here. Why don’t you go see if your grossdawdi needs any help?”
Johnny ran out the back door of the barn and Bram stepped closer.
“I didn’t expect to see you.”
Samuel tried to smile. “Annie told me where you live.”
“You’ve been to Annie’s?”
“I brought Judith and Esther to her house for the quilting this morning, and I thought I’d stop and see how you were doing.”
Bram stared at him. “If I remember right, when I stopped by the farm last year you told me that I didn’t belong there, and you didn’t want to see me again.”
Samuel took a step back. Ja, for sure, he remembered that day. Bram had been all slicked up in a gabardine suit. An Englischer through and through.
“You didn’t look like you wanted to stay.”
Bram stepped closer. “You didn’t even let me go to the house to see the girls.”
Samuel looked him in the eyes. “You weren’t our brother anymore. You were some fancy Englischer. How did I know what you wanted from us?”
His brother looked down. “You were probably right.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I was hoping to hide out at home, but when you sent me on my way, I had to make other plans.” He smiled then, looking at Samuel again. “I should probably thank you for that. If you hadn’t forced me to move on to Annie and Matthew’s, I would never have met Ellie.”
“But the last time we spoke, at the barn raising, you threatened me.”
“Ja, well, I did, didn’t I? You must understand, there were some dangerous men around and I didn’t want you to get mixed up with them. I was hoping to scare you off.”
Samuel felt the corner of his mouth twitch. “More dangerous than you?”
Bram’s mouth widened in a wry grin. “Dangerous enough. But that’s in the past. My life is different now. Better. Much better.”
Samuel nodded, looking around at the neat, clean barn. “Life has been good to you.”
“God has been good to me.” Bram grabbed Samuel’s shoulder and squeezed it. “What about you? How are things going for you?”
Samuel scratched at his chin, missing the whiskers. “Not as good.”
“When I stopped by last year, it looked like the farm was doing all right.”
He shrugged. “As well as when Daed ran it. The hogs sell, and that brings in cash when we need it.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Mamm died. How did Daed take it?”
“You don’t know how she died? Annie didn’t tell you?”
Bram shot him a look. “What do you mean?”
“Daed was drunk. He and Mamm were arguing.” Samuel shut his eyes, trying to block out the memory of the shouts, Mamm’s cries. “She fell down the stairs and died three days later.”
“Annie never told me any of this.” Bram ran his hand over his face. “What do you think happened?”
“You know what Daed was like when he lost his temper.”
Bram nodded. “Especially when he was drunk.” He paused and their eyes met. “Do you think that had anything to do with the accident?”
Samuel shook his head. “I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if it wasn’t an accident. I’ve gone over it in my head again and again. All I know is if he hadn’t been drinking, he wouldn’t have been fighting with her. But he drank all the time back then.”
They stood in silence as Samuel relived the memories again, and felt the release of having someone to share his suspicions with. Whether or not Daed had shoved Mamm, causing her fall, or if she lost her balance, he would never know. He had never told anyone about what he had witnessed that day.
Finally, Bram sighed. “I’m sorry, Samuel. I left home because I couldn’t take Daed and his temper anymore, but I left you alone with him. I shouldn’t have done that. We should have faced him together.”
Samuel shrugged. “You know Daed. He kept us working against each other so that we wouldn’t work against him.” Samuel stared at the barn floor as he realized just how strong their father’s influence had been. “We were never friends, were we?”
Bram shook his head. “Daed always picked at me, asking me why I couldn’t be more like you. He always did like you the best, you know.”
Samuel stared. “What do you mean? He always told me that I should be more like you.”
Bram stared back at him, then his laugh came out as a short bark. “That old rascal.”
“It isn’t funny. I’ve spent my life hating you.”
“Same here.” One corner of Bram’s mouth still held a grin. “Ach, then, what do we do about it now?”
Samuel’s thoughts whirled. What did he want? Could he be friends with this man when so many painful memories crowded in?
He stuck his hands in his pockets. “I’m not sure we can ever be brothers.”
Bram had bent his head down, and now looked at him from under the brim of his hat. “Could we be friends?”
Samuel shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s start with a truce, and then go on from there.”
Bram stuck his hand out and Samuel looked at it. Calloused, strong, tanned by the sun. The mirror image of his own as he slowly took the offered hand. Bram’s grip was sure. Firm. Sam
uel tightened his fingers and Bram’s grip grew firmer. Samuel felt a grin starting as he met Bram’s eyes.
“Truce.”
* * *
Mary sat at the kitchen table while Ida Mae helped Sadie get ready for bed. They had quickly discovered that Sadie became confused easily at night, and more than once had gone to bed with her dress still on, or neglecting a final trip to the outhouse, so the two of them took turns keeping Sadie focused on her bedtime routine until she was finally settled and asleep.
But only half of Mary’s mind was on Sadie and Ida Mae. She drummed her fingers on the table, echoing the rolling thunder of an approaching storm. The rain would be welcome, if they got any. Last year’s drought was one for the history books, Daed had said often enough. But the thunder was outdone by the rising bubble of guilt that pricked at her conscience.
After the quilting today, Annie had sent some jars of canned asparagus and a loaf of bread home with Sadie. Mary hadn’t thought much about it until this evening. While she had been washing up after supper, she had realized that Sadie’s cellar was full of canned goods, and the kitchen cupboards held sacks of flour. Even baking powder and cinnamon. All items that were hard to come by at home.
The entire community was supporting Sadie, not only here in Shipshewana but even folks in Eden Township. They made sure she had enough food in her cupboards and plenty of staples to keep her comfortable. Even Samuel helped with her chores.
Ida Mae came into the kitchen, stifling a yawn. “It’s been a long day, and I’m going to go to bed.”
“Sit down for a minute, first.” Mary used her foot to push a chair out from the table. “We need to talk.”
Her sister yawned again, but sat down. “What about?”
“You know people give food and other things to Sadie. And the Yoders across the road bring a gallon of milk every day.”
“Of course they do. Our church at home does the same for older people and others who can’t work for themselves.”
Mary nodded. “And that is the right thing to do, except that we’re here now. Have you noticed that the Yoders used to send a quart of milk for Sadie, but now it’s a gallon? Everyone has sent more food for Sadie since we came. They aren’t only making sure Sadie has enough, but they’re sending extra for us.”
Ida Mae lifted an eyebrow.
“We can and should work for ourselves, and support Sadie, too. We should be helping to support the community, not taking aid that another family might need more than we do.”
Ida Mae shifted in her chair as another roll of thunder sounded in the distance. “Are you suggesting we start farming? Or raising hogs like Samuel does?” She shook her head. “I don’t think we could do anything like that and care for Sadie, too.”
“I’m not sure what we could do, but there must be something. We will need to raise money to pay the property taxes, for sure, so we need a cash income.”
“Could we sell vegetables by the road? Or baked goods?”
“Perhaps. But no one has money to buy such things, and we aren’t on a main road to catch the attention of travelers.” Mary tapped one finger against her chin. “Maybe we could plant fruit trees like we have at home. Apples always sell well.”
Ida Mae rubbed her eyes. “It would take at least three years for the trees to give enough apples to sell. We can’t wait that long, can we?”
Mary shook her head. She ran her finger along the edge of the table, her heart pounding at the possibility that she dreaded. “I suppose one of us could hire out as farm help somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t want to work for Englischers, even if you found someone to hire us. You wouldn’t, either. Besides, we need to be here at home so we can take care of Aunt Sadie.”
“You’re right.” Mary leaned back in her chair, glad that Ida Mae had found the perfect excuse. She couldn’t imagine working in an Englischer’s house, possibly facing an Englisch man every day. And she wouldn’t even think about taking a job in town, like she had at home in Ohio. She tapped her chin again. “The chickens are producing pretty well.”
“Don’t remind me. They’re giving us so many eggs that we’ll be eating custard every day.” Ida Mae rolled her eyes and Mary grinned. Her sister hated custard.
“Maybe we can sell the extra eggs, or trade them for something at the store in Shipshewana.”
Ida Mae covered her mouth as another yawn took over. “That sounds like a good idea. They won’t bring in much money, but every little bit helps.”
Mary stood. “You need to get to bed, and so do I. If you can stay here with Sadie tomorrow, I’ll take the trip to town and make inquiries.”
Ida Mae pushed her chair away from the table. “If you can sell those eggs, I’ll be thankful.”
“I’ll see what I can get for them. The storekeeper might only take them in trade instead of buying them.”
“Well, make a list of things we need, just in case he does.” Ida Mae glanced at the stove. “Have you banked the fire yet?”
“I forgot. But go on to bed and I’ll take care of it.”
Rain spattered against the window panes as Ida Mae went up the narrow stairway off the kitchen. Mary opened the fire box on the stove. Coals glowed in the ashes, nearly out. If Ida Mae hadn’t reminded her to check, they would have awakened to a cold stove in the morning. She set a small log in the ashes and added kindling to build the fire up. Blowing gently on the coals, she watched as the dry bits of wood caught the heat, then as the pulsing glow turned to flame. The fire licked at the log until it, too, was burning.
Mary sat back on her heels as she waited for the fire to grow enough to keep the log smoldering all night. Watching the flames took her back to when she was a girl and helped Mamm build up the stove fire each morning. She had always loved feeding the fire and watching the flames take hold. The warmth of the fire fascinated her, and she still didn’t understand where the heat came from. Daed said it was from the sunshine stored in the trees while they lived, but that didn’t satisfy her curiosity. How did the trees do that? And why did the wood burn like it did?
She sighed and raked the coals close to the burning log. That was one mystery she would never solve. She shut the fire box door and closed the dampers. The log would smolder all night and leave a bed of live coals to start the morning’s fire. As she passed the table on her way to the stairs, she turned down the lamp that hung from the ceiling until the flame went out.
Tomorrow she would take the extra eggs to town, but which store should she take them to? Rain pattered on the roof overhead as she felt her way up the dark stairs. And then the answer came to her. She would stop by the Lapps’ farm on her way to town. Judith or Esther might know the best place for her to trade, and where she would get the best deal for the eggs. Hopefully the storekeeper would want to buy a few dozen every week, and their problems would be eased.
Mary shut her eyes against the thought of going to town and interacting with strangers. But she couldn’t let things go on as they had been. She and Ida Mae would support themselves and Sadie, and help others with the surplus.
She leaned on the table as a low moan escaped. She would have to face the Englisch storekeepers in Shipshewana. Her knees grew weak at the thought. Where would she find the strength?
Chapter Five
The storms overnight had turned the hog pen into a morass of stinking mud. Samuel leaned on the top fence rail and plucked at a grass stem just out of the greedy sows’ reach. The hogs milled around in the pen, rooting in the mud, stirring the mess into an ankle-deep slough. As he watched, one big sow dug under the feeding trough and lifted it until it rolled over, then grunted contentedly as she snagged bits of food that had been buried underneath it.
What would Daed do with this? Samuel rubbed at his forehead, trying to erase the memories that surfaced. Daed would send him into the mud to wrestle the tr
ough upright and pour another bucket of slops in for the pigs, all while trying to keep from getting bitten or shoved down into the mud himself. Today, he would have to send himself into the pen.
No use putting it off. He climbed over the fence and waited for his boots to settle in the mud. Here by the fence it wasn’t too bad. Samuel glanced at the sow that was trying to flip the feeding trough again. She was belly deep in the stuff. He headed toward the trough, one step at a time, the mud sucking at his boots. Fending off the rest of the sows that shoved at him, looking for the slops they knew he would soon give them, he grabbed the edge of the trough, set it upright and dragged it back to the fence.
Finally back on dry ground, he picked up a bucket to pour the slops into the mud-caked trough, but the sight of Chester pulling Sadie’s buggy into the yard stopped him. Mary was driving, alone. He set the pail down and started toward the buggy. The only reason he could think of for Mary to drive over here by herself was that something had happened to Sadie. He quickened his pace to a trot.
He reached the hitching rail the same time Mary pulled Chester to a stop. Her smile of greeting faded as she stared at him.
Samuel panted, out of breath. “What’s wrong? Is Sadie ill?”
She shook her head slowly, still staring. “I’m on my way to Shipshewana, and I thought the girls might like to go with me.”
“So Sadie is all right?”
“For sure, she is. She and Ida Mae are spending the morning piecing a quilt top.”
Samuel straightened his shoulders. He hated when his mind leaped ahead of him. “Then why are you staring at me?”
Mary blinked and moved her gaze to his face. “You’re filthy.”
“Ja, of course I am.” He waved a dismissing hand, then caught sight of the mud. His hands, arms, shirt, trousers...every inch was covered in the muck from the hogs’ pen. “The pigsty is deep in mud, and those sows had shoved their trough into the center of it all again.”
“Do you fasten it to the fence?”
It was his turn to blink. “What?”
